


I Never Thought I'd See You Again

by gremlinquisitor (suchanadorer)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 13:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16347533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/gremlinquisitor
Summary: Eorryn Cousland has just slain an archdemon, but she has no idea what it looked like for Alistair down on the ground.





	I Never Thought I'd See You Again

They all but carry her down the stairs, awkward and ungainly. Never in her life will she say out loud that Zevran is short, but compared to Sten, he does little to support her, and all of them are exhausted. He had insisted, however, and she is grateful for his steadying arm around her waist, even if one shoulder is much higher than the other. Wynne walks in front, her staff glowing to light their way. Even now, even after, they can not be sure that they’re safe. Killing an archdemon doesn’t mean all the darkspawn just die, after all - today’s new lesson learned. But nothing meets them as they make their way down from the tower. 

On the ground, it is chaos, but ebbing, darkspawn fighting for their lives as they try to retreat. The armies stop as many as they can, their energy renewed by certain victory. The four of them are surrounded by the sights and sounds of battle, and they pause, letting her test out her legs before they wade in to join the forces harrying the darkspawns’ retreat. She can stand, and she smiles at them, a silent thank you for their help that extends far past simply getting her down the stairs.

She wants nothing more than to blend in among the soldiers, even if she is too tired to raise her weapon. Archdemons smell awful, death and burning and stagnation, and she is covered in it, in no fit state to keep fighting. The armies take little notice of them, though, and she is grateful. It’s likely that they don’t realize who she is, she thinks, and the thought makes her smile. Wynne had done what she could to clean them up when their battle on the roof was over, but Warden Eorryn Cousland needs rest, and a bath. 

That is not what she wants, however. Not yet. 

As they make their way to the entrance to the fort, her concern grows, clawing at her throat and stealing her breath. Swords crash against each other, darkspawn howl, and her ears are still ringing from the explosion, all of it keeping her from hearing the one voice that she is searching for. Perhaps it is too much to hope for, to hear his battle cries, but neither does she see him among the soldiers.

The town is nearly empty as they make their way outside. Ash and smoke hang in the air, stinging her eyes until they water, but even as her vision swims, she sees golden armor. He’s too far away, has been too far away since she made him stay, but it was safer this way, with the two of them separated. It been the easiest and hardest decision that she had ever made, since that day when Duncan had taken her from her home, but he had to be safe. Splitting them up would keep them safer; that had been her reasoning when she’d asked Alistair to stay behind, but now he’s all that she can think of.

He doesn’t see her. Head down, one knee in the mud of the road, his hands rest on the pommel of his sword where he’s stuck it in the earth in front of him. His armor is marred by blood, helm lost, but he’s safe, and her heart feels so big inside her chest that she can barely breathe. In her mind she wills him to look up, to see her and smile one of his smiles, easy and lopsided, as if they were across a tavern from each other and not a town filled with dead darkspawn and soldiers. Instead his face stays hidden, his weariness apparent even from a distance.

“Go.” Wynne smiles at her in that knowing way she has, and when she turns to look, Zevran is grinning as well, knowing in a different way. Her twisted ankle is all but forgotten as she leaves them behind, walking, then running to cover the distance. 

But she is not the only one running towards him. A Hurlock Alpha rounds the corner of a building, weapon drawn as it looks left, then right. Left leads to escape and possible freedom. Right, a single kneeling soldier, a final prize to be taken on the battlefield. And so it turns towards him, shrieking as it approaches Alistair.

He doesn’t move, not to lift his weapon nor his head, and time slows down as she watches. 

“Alistair!” Her throat and chest hurt from the strength of her shout, voice cracking as she tries to warn him. Her arms feel sluggish and useless as she lifts her bow, reaching for an arrow from her quiver.

His head comes up and he turns to look, not at the approaching enemy, but at her. His mouth falls open, brow furrowed, everything in his expression stricken, shattered by something deeper than the battle. She doesn’t understand, but there is no time for her to dwell on it. The Alpha hefts a battle-axe above its head, uninterested in the scene playing out before it.

She nocks her arrow and allows herself one steadying breath before letting it fly. Alistair’s eyes widen when he sees it, and he’s on his feet in an instant, all the earlier fatigue seeming to vanish from him. Her arrow flies true, straight into the Alpha’s left eye. Its head rocks back, and Alistair finishes the job, his sword coming up in a clean arc to separate the Alpha’s head from its neck.

The body crumples to the ground, falling beside where Alistair has dropped his sword. He runs to meet her, skidding to a halt in the mud just in time to keep from barreling into her. For a moment he hesitates, arms out, looking down at himself, then at her. This close, she can see streaks in the grime on his face, see how red his eyes are. 

Eorryn reaches up with both hands, setting them on his jaw and pulling him down to her. The kiss tastes like blood - human blood - and smoke, and it’s the sweetest thing she’s ever tasted. His hands find her waist, and she tries to pop up onto her toes, but her ankle protests, pitching her forward against his breastplate instead.

“Sorry, I--”

“You’re alive.” His voice is raw, and the pain in it tears something open inside her as she catches up. He’d thought she’d died, and he’d known the Hurlock was coming for him, and he hadn’t moved until he’d heard her shout.

He looks down at her, and he’s crying again, but this time he’s smiling, and he’s not even trying to calm down. He takes his hands off her sides only long enough to tug his gauntlets off, and then he’s touching her, skin to skin, his hand on the side of her face, thumb wiping away her own tears. 

“The explosion, it was--” He sobs, pausing for a moment. She waits, watching him fight to compose himself.

“I just wanted you safe,” she explains. “I didn’t want--”

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispers, brushing her hair back off her forehead.

“I’m right here. I’m real, and I’m not leaving your side again.” She pulls him down for another kiss, this one deeper, less desperate. She has so much she wants to say, but no words, so she kisses him to try to explain, to apologize and promise and soothe the hurt she’s caused.

“Alistair!” Zevran’s voice cuts through the moment and she lets Alistair go, looking up at him with a shy smile. “I am so glad to see that you are not dead. That would have been a terrible loss.”

He comes up alongside them, along with Wynne and Sten. Eorryn smiles at all of them as she takes a step back from Alistair. He is calmer now, more smiles than tears, and perhaps their reunion is best continued somewhere safer, preferably with hot water and soap.

“She hurt her ankle coming down the stairs,” Sten offers. “We had to carry her.”

“Only because I wasn’t there.” She’s off her feet in the next moment, scooped up into Alistair’s arms and cradled against his chest. 

“Don’t forget your sword.” She tries to twist to see where it’s landed in the mud, but they’ve already passed it, Alistair walking with quick, confident strides. 

“There are lots of swords. There’s only one you.”


End file.
